“Lucie, you’d better watch your back.”
“I’m trying to. That’s why I’d like to meet somewhere out of the way.”
“Any preferences?”
“How about our old hangout?”
“Ah.” I could hear her smile through the phone. “A reconvening of what your brother referred to as the Semi- Irregular Meeting of Juvenile Boozers Anonymous.”
I grinned. When Kit and I were growing up, I used to filch unlabeled bottles of wine from the barrel room and bring them over to the old Goose Creek Bridge where we’d hang out at twilight and drink. It had been the site of a Civil War battle—the place where Colonel J. E. B. Stuart tried to delay Union troops in order to give Robert E. Lee more time to advance toward Pennsylvania. Ten days later, the two armies met at Gettysburg. Now the garden club looked after the bridge, which was out of the way and generally deserted. We’d probably have it all to ourselves.
“But I’m not up for polishing off a bottle of wine first thing in the morning anymore,” I said.
“How about coffee and doughnuts instead?” she said. “David and I’ll spring for it. Meet you there, say around ten?”
“Fine. Ten o’clock.”
“Before you hang up,” she said, “what are you wearing Saturday night? The invitation says black tie but I never know whether to wear short or long.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The Library of Congress. The reception and a private dinner afterward for the Asher Collection. I got the press packet and your name’s on the guest list. I figured Harlan and Alison Jennings invited you.”
I thought for a moment. “No, not them. Rebecca told me about it. She put my name on that list. My God, I completely forgot. She really wanted me to be there.”
“So are you going?” Kit asked.
Every player in this unfolding drama would be there. Including, perhaps, my stalker.
“Yes,” I said. “I’m going.”
Chapter 20
After I hung up with Kit I poured myself a large glass of wine from an open bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon on the dining room sideboard. I took it into the library, along with Leland’s .45, and set them both on the coffee table next to the sofa. The next thing I knew someone was pounding on my front door.
I picked up the gun next to my untouched glass of wine and walked slowly into the foyer.
“Lucie! Open up in there. Are you okay? Answer the door, and for God’s sake, don’t shoot me if you’ve got that damn gun!”
Quinn. I lowered my arm, dizzy with relief, and flung open the door.
“What are you doing here? You scared the wits out of me!”
He was holding a couple of white bags. The appealing aroma of Chinese food filled the air. He’d gone to the new place in Leesburg.
“How come you didn’t answer my calls? Next time pick up, will you? And you could have told me you started locking your front door.”
“What calls?” I let him in. The food smelled wonderful. “And I’m fine.”
He pointed to the gun. “Yeah, I can see everything’s just great. You forgot to charge your phone again, didn’t you? Bet you didn’t eat yet, either. Your face has funny creases on it. I woke you up.”
I brushed my fingers across my cheeks and felt for creases. “Who are you, my mother? And my phone is”—I felt in my pocket—“somewhere.”
“Where somewhere? Carry it with you, okay? That’s what it’s for.”
It drove him nuts when I forgot my phone, which I often did, but the level of anxiety in his voice made me uneasy. He was right. It was dumb not to have the phone with me at all times, under the circumstances.
“It’s probably in my car. And I think it needs to be charged,” I said, as he looked exasperated. “What’s in the bags?”
“Shrimp with snow peas for you.” He handed it to me and I peered inside. “Kung Pao chicken for me. Bon appétit.”
“Wait. You’re not leaving, are you?”
“I was gonna check things in the barrel room.”
“And eat by yourself?”
“You, uh, want to eat together?”
Why are men so dense about these things?
“We could make a fire in the parlor. I think there’s a really good Saint-Estèphe in Leland’s wine cellar.”
Quinn handed me his bag. “I’ll be back.”
“Where are you going?”
“To the carriage house to get some firewood,” he said. “Where’d you think?”
He was gone a long time, longer than it took to get a few logs. Our dinner was growing cold and my heart started up like war drums.
He met me at the front door, arms full of firewood, his eyes traveling to the .45, which I again held in my hand.
“Put that thing away before you shoot somebody,” he said.
“That’s the general idea of guns.”
“And your phone was in your car. Dead as a doornail. Plug it in and charge it, okay?”
I attached the phone to the charger and put the gun in the cabinet. When I walked into the parlor, he was on his knees in front of the fireplace, sticking fatwood and newspaper between the logs on the grate.
“Do you have any idea how to shoot that gun?” he asked. “I mean, so you hit what you’re aiming at? What made you get it just now? That fox crying? Jeez, Lucie, you’re jumpier than a june bug.”
I sat on the floor next to him and, out of habit, tucked my bad foot underneath me where he wouldn’t see it. “I didn’t hear the fox. You were gone a long time just to get an armful of firewood.”
He got the fire starter from the mantel and lit the newspaper. Without looking at me he said, “I figured I’d check around the house. Antonio’s patrolling the grounds.”
“He is?”
“Yeah.” He hesitated. “We’ve got a couple of guys babysitting the entrance to the vineyard. They’re armed. We’re gonna rotate people on security duty. Days and nights. Figured you’d okay the overtime pay.”
Security guards at the gate? No one had said a word to me.
I swallowed. “Sure. Thanks.”
“How about if I get that bottle of Saint-Estèphe and decant it? And yes, I’m going to check the door in your basement, too. Make sure the dead bolt’s in place.”
When he came back he said, “I forgot what a fabulous wine cellar your old man had. You sure you want to drink this with takeout? Maybe you should save it for a special occasion, you know? Something to celebrate.”
How could I tell him I thought dinner with him was something to celebrate?
“I’m sure.”
He looked at me for a long moment and I held my breath.
“You know, it’s going to take that wine awhile to decant,” he said. “We could stay right here in your nice parlor and enjoy the fire while we wait. Or we could do something else.”
We did something else.
It had been months since the last time, but I no longer cared if he realized how much I’d missed his lovemaking. We began kissing and undressing each other right there in the parlor, dropping our clothes one by one on the grand spiral staircase like a couple of giddy kids. By the time we reached my bedroom we were panting and out of breath. He threw me on the bed and bit my shoulder as he climbed on top of me. I tangled my fingers
